Raissa Rivera Falgui's Blog, page 3
November 8, 2018
When I was Fern
I have a bunch of deadlines coming up, but the past few days I have hardly been able to write. A good friend died a week ago. A friend I hadn't seen or spoken to for years. For no reason other than that life got in the way.
It's all the more ironic because a friend and I had just been discussing how disappointed we were with Fern in Charlotte's Web. Naturally as young girls we were drawn to her and related with her very much when reading the book. I first read it when I was Fern's exact age, eight, at the start. I admired her toughness and devotion to Wilbur, which lasted till the middle of the book. But then Fern just stops visiting until Wilbur is about to be taken to the fair. She shows concern for his welfare, but once she sees he's okay, she wants to take off and even whines about posing for a photo with him! How could she?
Then two days later I heard that an old friend died. Shocked, I tried to remember the last time I saw her. I had gone to a Mass in the Opus Dei center where she lived when my older son was just born. That was nearly seven years ago. And I don't really remember talking to her, with all the other people there. I saw her nearly daily for three of the five years I worked in UA&P. And I remember no more than six conversations with her.
The first was when we met. Someone had mistaken me for her from the back, because we had the same hairstyle and I was wearing a blue and yellow paisley blouse which she also had, though she wasn't wearing it at that time. We happened to be out in the same corridor later that day. She worked a floor below, but someone had told me you could get free Wall Street Journals on the second floor, so I would go down there once a week for it. Someone pointed me out to her, presumably as the person she mistook for her, and since I noticed them looking at me through the glass office doors, she came out and introduced herself. And she remarked on my blouse. I had noticed someone else had worn the same one but it didn't make me love the blouse less. She felt the same.
So often relationships begin on such small things as a shared fashion sense. That doesn't make them trite, for these little things are often hints of deeper aspects of personality. Don't magazine quizzes always try to determine your personality based on your favorite color? She loved the shade of periwinkle blue I had chosen for the bridesmaids' dresses for my upcoming wedding. Blue was her favorite color, and I made sure to wear it to her funeral.
How I wish I could remember more of those times we would end up having lunch together. All I remember was her telling me about studying in Spain, how people sat in cafes till very late and had trouble pronouncing her name. And about a student who sassed her during her first day as a teacher. She advised me to think about studying abroad and soothed me when I was furious that a textbook publisher was trying to avoid paying me the agreed-upon amount for edits. She went to my wedding but I was so flustered that I did not remember seeing her there until I looked at the pictures and video later.
Those are the only pictures I have of her. In the days before smartphones, people didn't normally take pictures of casual everyday events and companions. And I did see the relationship at that time as a casual work friendship. But she did do me one great favor. She referred me to the editor of Baby Magazine when I was pregnant. Not being permanent and therefore not entitled to leave, I had to leave my job when I gave birth. I had a number of writing and editing gigs that I did at home, but I enjoyed the Baby writing job the most, and had pleasant dealings with the editors. I even got to put photos of my daughter in the magazine. It lead to another regular writing gig, when one of the writers from there became the editor of another magazine and offered me work.
And while all this was going on, I was able to bring my daughter to visit my old office only once. Thankfully, she was there. She heard I was around and came to see me and admire my toddler daughter. And I told her how writing for the magazine helped me to earn while staying home with my toddler. She was glad.
And somehow except for Christmas greetings we faded from each other's lives. She was busy too, taking a post-grad degree and becoming head of a new department. I know that those three years I saw her frequently were so little compared to the time her many other friends, colleagues, and students had with her. But they mean no less and the pain of losing her is compounded by the bitter regret that I had not tried to spend more time with her. How could I have forgotten her?
I had been a Fern of sorts, but in reverse.
Fern was Wilbur's surrogate mother. She was attentive when Wilbur needed her, and Wilbur craved her presence until he made other friends of his own. After that, they clung less to each other. They still maintained a bond of affection and concern, but slowly grew apart.
Friendship is the bond of least obligation. Why else would the greatest love be laying down one's life for one's friend? We are expected to do this for family members. Professional relationships carry a great deal of obligation, no more than that of a student to a teacher. This lack of obligation is freeing--you are together only because you like each other. But it also makes the bond more tenuous. We are not obliged to get together on holidays or go to each other's special events. And much as we would like to, when life is too busy, it is all too easy to set aside opportunities to reconnect. And though there is no quarrel between us, we then drift apart.
I suppose my role should be more of the Wilbur because she was the mother figure to me, but because I am the one with a significant other and more mobility, at least since I learned to drive, then I think I am more of the Fern, and the one to blame. I am the one who has lost more too, as well. I would have been happy to have done a Tuesdays with Morrie with Dr. Riza Bondal. But now there can be no Tuesdays or any days with her in this world.
And so I feel a loss purer than when I lost my mother. Because as I said, friendship has the least obligation--and conversely parent and child has the most, and hence the most expectation and frustration. I envy people who can love their parents without struggling with guilt, annoyance, or disappointment or the feeling that they always fell short of their parents' expectations. I can only be grateful that my friend was there when I needed her, and sorry that I was not able to do the same for her. But I also know that even if I had spent more time with her, it would never have felt enough. I can only be glad that the time we did have together was as cordial and meaningful as it was.
It's all the more ironic because a friend and I had just been discussing how disappointed we were with Fern in Charlotte's Web. Naturally as young girls we were drawn to her and related with her very much when reading the book. I first read it when I was Fern's exact age, eight, at the start. I admired her toughness and devotion to Wilbur, which lasted till the middle of the book. But then Fern just stops visiting until Wilbur is about to be taken to the fair. She shows concern for his welfare, but once she sees he's okay, she wants to take off and even whines about posing for a photo with him! How could she?
Then two days later I heard that an old friend died. Shocked, I tried to remember the last time I saw her. I had gone to a Mass in the Opus Dei center where she lived when my older son was just born. That was nearly seven years ago. And I don't really remember talking to her, with all the other people there. I saw her nearly daily for three of the five years I worked in UA&P. And I remember no more than six conversations with her.
The first was when we met. Someone had mistaken me for her from the back, because we had the same hairstyle and I was wearing a blue and yellow paisley blouse which she also had, though she wasn't wearing it at that time. We happened to be out in the same corridor later that day. She worked a floor below, but someone had told me you could get free Wall Street Journals on the second floor, so I would go down there once a week for it. Someone pointed me out to her, presumably as the person she mistook for her, and since I noticed them looking at me through the glass office doors, she came out and introduced herself. And she remarked on my blouse. I had noticed someone else had worn the same one but it didn't make me love the blouse less. She felt the same.
So often relationships begin on such small things as a shared fashion sense. That doesn't make them trite, for these little things are often hints of deeper aspects of personality. Don't magazine quizzes always try to determine your personality based on your favorite color? She loved the shade of periwinkle blue I had chosen for the bridesmaids' dresses for my upcoming wedding. Blue was her favorite color, and I made sure to wear it to her funeral.
How I wish I could remember more of those times we would end up having lunch together. All I remember was her telling me about studying in Spain, how people sat in cafes till very late and had trouble pronouncing her name. And about a student who sassed her during her first day as a teacher. She advised me to think about studying abroad and soothed me when I was furious that a textbook publisher was trying to avoid paying me the agreed-upon amount for edits. She went to my wedding but I was so flustered that I did not remember seeing her there until I looked at the pictures and video later.
Those are the only pictures I have of her. In the days before smartphones, people didn't normally take pictures of casual everyday events and companions. And I did see the relationship at that time as a casual work friendship. But she did do me one great favor. She referred me to the editor of Baby Magazine when I was pregnant. Not being permanent and therefore not entitled to leave, I had to leave my job when I gave birth. I had a number of writing and editing gigs that I did at home, but I enjoyed the Baby writing job the most, and had pleasant dealings with the editors. I even got to put photos of my daughter in the magazine. It lead to another regular writing gig, when one of the writers from there became the editor of another magazine and offered me work.
And while all this was going on, I was able to bring my daughter to visit my old office only once. Thankfully, she was there. She heard I was around and came to see me and admire my toddler daughter. And I told her how writing for the magazine helped me to earn while staying home with my toddler. She was glad.
And somehow except for Christmas greetings we faded from each other's lives. She was busy too, taking a post-grad degree and becoming head of a new department. I know that those three years I saw her frequently were so little compared to the time her many other friends, colleagues, and students had with her. But they mean no less and the pain of losing her is compounded by the bitter regret that I had not tried to spend more time with her. How could I have forgotten her?
I had been a Fern of sorts, but in reverse.
Fern was Wilbur's surrogate mother. She was attentive when Wilbur needed her, and Wilbur craved her presence until he made other friends of his own. After that, they clung less to each other. They still maintained a bond of affection and concern, but slowly grew apart.
Friendship is the bond of least obligation. Why else would the greatest love be laying down one's life for one's friend? We are expected to do this for family members. Professional relationships carry a great deal of obligation, no more than that of a student to a teacher. This lack of obligation is freeing--you are together only because you like each other. But it also makes the bond more tenuous. We are not obliged to get together on holidays or go to each other's special events. And much as we would like to, when life is too busy, it is all too easy to set aside opportunities to reconnect. And though there is no quarrel between us, we then drift apart.
I suppose my role should be more of the Wilbur because she was the mother figure to me, but because I am the one with a significant other and more mobility, at least since I learned to drive, then I think I am more of the Fern, and the one to blame. I am the one who has lost more too, as well. I would have been happy to have done a Tuesdays with Morrie with Dr. Riza Bondal. But now there can be no Tuesdays or any days with her in this world.
And so I feel a loss purer than when I lost my mother. Because as I said, friendship has the least obligation--and conversely parent and child has the most, and hence the most expectation and frustration. I envy people who can love their parents without struggling with guilt, annoyance, or disappointment or the feeling that they always fell short of their parents' expectations. I can only be grateful that my friend was there when I needed her, and sorry that I was not able to do the same for her. But I also know that even if I had spent more time with her, it would never have felt enough. I can only be glad that the time we did have together was as cordial and meaningful as it was.
October 7, 2018
What I Can't Let Go After Seeing Never Let Me Go
I've been trying to find time to read Never Let Me Go for a while. I decided to start out with the movie instead. It looked good and presented the story mostly the way I expected. I had an idea what it was about from the first time I read the blurb. It wasn't as mysterious as it hoped to be. There was a big blow up on the possible ways human cloning could be abused at that time so it was all too easy to fill in the blanks.
So I watched the movie and it all looked good and the acting was great and it was touching and all that but at the end I was let down. I'm often disappointed when I watch a movie based on a book I've read and loved. That wasn't the case here. I was disappointed because the story wasn't quite what I expected.
Spoilers if you haven't seen the movie or read the book from this point forward. Proceed at your own risk. :)
The young people in the movie are all clones. I knew that. But I expected they were clones especially manufactured for the people they were cloned from. New and improved versions, in other words. After all, there weren't that many children in the school. I thought they had been commissioned by people whose children had an illness as custom organ replacement providers. This makes more sense to me than creating a race of general organ donors. Granted, the premise is that the clones are not considered truly human. But it's hard to see that given that when they are adults they are permitted to live mostly normal lives. If they really didn't think of them as human, then why give them that much freedom? Human rights should not be an issue then, so it would be easier to keep them as confined as they were as children. Since most of them don't seem to have real jobs, they are probably even more of a drain on finances when allowed to roam than if they were just kept in an institution.
Of course letting them have a measure of freedom allowed Ishiguro, I understand from http://blog.pshares.org/index.php/boo..., to explore the issue of brainwashing and psychological control. Certainly it worked to some extent in real-life slavery, but not really that well. Judging by the many and severe punishments for slaves who attempted to escape back in the day of Uncle Tom's Cabin, many slaves came to hate their chains. In the movie, the characters are implanted with trackers. Still not enough of a preventive, in my opinion. When they were in school, meek compliance was understandable. After all, it was the only world they knew. But once they were outside and saw how much freedom other people had, and even got to experience being treated like ordinary people, wouldn't they yearn to live like everyone else? Wouldn't they want the chance at a longer life for its own sake and not just to be with someone they love?
I had a vision of the characters as being more enslaved and pathetic, as raging more dramatically against their imposed fate. Instead they accept it almost as calmly as the servants in The Remains of the Day but with less plausible motivation. Those servants were not only raised in a different time with a different mindset, they had the rewards of security and a purpose in life without the consequence of getting their organs ripped out. In the modern setting of Never Let Me Go, it is just harder to believe that people should be so docile in allowing themselves to be restricted and used. It's especially ironic given these children grew up at a time when people were growing more vocal about promoting the rights of women and minorities. There were clearly some bright and insightful people among their number so why didn't anyone openly rebel? I don't know of any case like this in the modern world. Not in the last forty years.
I imagined that they were living their lives unaware until their donation time came that there was another person out there who is just like them but older (because the clone was made when the disease was diagnosed) and living as a free human being, normal except for their organ-damaging illness. And then maybe the issue of why the originals are valued more than them is explored. Well, perhaps the book does deal with that. I'll have to read it to find out. But if it doesn't then all these ideas were mine first and if you are tempted to write a story using them, remember I am the original and you are my inferior clone. Mwahahahahahaha!
So I watched the movie and it all looked good and the acting was great and it was touching and all that but at the end I was let down. I'm often disappointed when I watch a movie based on a book I've read and loved. That wasn't the case here. I was disappointed because the story wasn't quite what I expected.
Spoilers if you haven't seen the movie or read the book from this point forward. Proceed at your own risk. :)
The young people in the movie are all clones. I knew that. But I expected they were clones especially manufactured for the people they were cloned from. New and improved versions, in other words. After all, there weren't that many children in the school. I thought they had been commissioned by people whose children had an illness as custom organ replacement providers. This makes more sense to me than creating a race of general organ donors. Granted, the premise is that the clones are not considered truly human. But it's hard to see that given that when they are adults they are permitted to live mostly normal lives. If they really didn't think of them as human, then why give them that much freedom? Human rights should not be an issue then, so it would be easier to keep them as confined as they were as children. Since most of them don't seem to have real jobs, they are probably even more of a drain on finances when allowed to roam than if they were just kept in an institution.
Of course letting them have a measure of freedom allowed Ishiguro, I understand from http://blog.pshares.org/index.php/boo..., to explore the issue of brainwashing and psychological control. Certainly it worked to some extent in real-life slavery, but not really that well. Judging by the many and severe punishments for slaves who attempted to escape back in the day of Uncle Tom's Cabin, many slaves came to hate their chains. In the movie, the characters are implanted with trackers. Still not enough of a preventive, in my opinion. When they were in school, meek compliance was understandable. After all, it was the only world they knew. But once they were outside and saw how much freedom other people had, and even got to experience being treated like ordinary people, wouldn't they yearn to live like everyone else? Wouldn't they want the chance at a longer life for its own sake and not just to be with someone they love?
I had a vision of the characters as being more enslaved and pathetic, as raging more dramatically against their imposed fate. Instead they accept it almost as calmly as the servants in The Remains of the Day but with less plausible motivation. Those servants were not only raised in a different time with a different mindset, they had the rewards of security and a purpose in life without the consequence of getting their organs ripped out. In the modern setting of Never Let Me Go, it is just harder to believe that people should be so docile in allowing themselves to be restricted and used. It's especially ironic given these children grew up at a time when people were growing more vocal about promoting the rights of women and minorities. There were clearly some bright and insightful people among their number so why didn't anyone openly rebel? I don't know of any case like this in the modern world. Not in the last forty years.
I imagined that they were living their lives unaware until their donation time came that there was another person out there who is just like them but older (because the clone was made when the disease was diagnosed) and living as a free human being, normal except for their organ-damaging illness. And then maybe the issue of why the originals are valued more than them is explored. Well, perhaps the book does deal with that. I'll have to read it to find out. But if it doesn't then all these ideas were mine first and if you are tempted to write a story using them, remember I am the original and you are my inferior clone. Mwahahahahahaha!
September 16, 2018
Why Today's Teen Movies Mostly Come from Books
I always try to match most of the things that I read and watch with my work in progress to help keep me on track. It helps me to keep my mind on my work even when I'm not actually writing and often helps generate insight and ideas that help keep the ideas flowing. Since I'm currently finishing a YA romance about a girl who loves science, I searched for movies about bright and motivated teens. I found two: The Spectacular Now and To All the Boys I've Loved Before, both of which were based on books.
I haven't read the books but both movies and another based on a book, The Kissing Booth, were among the best recent teen movies I had seen on Netflix. I also enjoyed the most recent update of Freaky Friday (a teen book I have actually read) on the Disney Channel.
According to reviews, there are numerous differences between these movies and books. I would definitely agree when it comes to Freaky Friday. Nothing remains, really, but the bare bones: A teen girl who hates her little brother, has a crush her age, is bright but goofs off in school, doesn't appreciate her mother.
And yet with all the changes, these movies are still so much better than recent non-book-adaptation teen movies.
One reason is that the writers of books have done all the detailed thinking that movie scriptwriters are less given to doing. With rather limited time to tell the story, movie writers mostly focus on plot and deck out archetypes a bit differently each time to serve as characters. As a writer, I know creating an engaging three-dimensional character really takes a lot of thought. In writing a book, you have the luxury of creating a detailed back story. Very little of this back story may be shown in the movie version, but the fact that it is there makes the characters more real and consistent.
When I watched The Spectacular Now, I was reminded of two other movies with similar elements: A Walk to Remember and Here on Earth. The first is based on a book, the second is not. I liked The Spectacular Now, loved A Walk to Remember, and was not quite sold on Here on Earth. If you haven't heard of it, there's a good reason. Quite simply, it's about a sweet small-town girl who falls for a bratty rich boy. Why, apart from the fact that he's handsome, I don't know. She doesn't seem to be that shallow. She's not supposed to be. She's terminally ill--why should she waste her time, especially since she already has an attractive childhood sweetheart? She is drawn like Little Women's Beth, but without the crippling shyness that made us understand how Beth is able to accept she won't live to grow up--she had such difficulty in dealing with the world. Leelee Sobieski is lovely in her role but so lovely that she doesn't really seem to be ill and her inability to keep going thus appears to be more from a lack of will than due to real suffering. The bratty prep boy is a completely unbelievable character. He's high school valedictorian, but reckless and irresponsible enough to goad the girl's boyfriend into a dangerous drag race. And we are supposed to sympathize with him because his mother died when he was young and he has a cold father. Maybe we could if he didn't avoid his girlfriend when he found out she was dying. Her ex seeks him out to say that she needs him. A big WHY? flashed into my mind at that line. He was the one who always needed her, so how could she expect him to have anything to give her? If he'd said she was worried about him, it would have rung truer.
The Spectacular Now is sometimes rushed in its storytelling, but it does the good girl-bad boy trope much better. The boy is irresponsible and always drunk, but he is friendly and kind. He listens to the girl and is interested in her and doesn't share his own problems till much later in their relationship, after he's advised her on dealing with her own. These teens are so achingly real and sympathetic. I love the scene where she says she's figured out how to make her own marriage work. She walks the line between innocent and wise so well, just like a real mature teen. I'm annoyed that she's influenced by him to drink to loosen up, but it doesn't seem to be an addiction with her. I also thought she was a little too forgiving, but it was consistent with her character, since she allowed herself to be used by her mother as well. As saintly as she seems to be, she doesn't give up everything for the guy but goes off to college while he's figuring his own life out. And she expects him to, even knowing how wounded he is by his father's abandonment. I have some problems with this movie, but I will say that the characters are very real and believable.
A Walk to Remember has the bad boy and the sweet girl that you probably know is *spoiler alert* dying, and there's the absent dad, too. The progression of the relationship is gradual and believable. Jamie may be sweet and kind, but she makes demands of Landon. She expects him to work hard and be a real friend. The romance is beautiful and dramatic as the turn of events is, the development of the characters remains believable. Which is good because they are the kind of couple we want to believe in.
Neither book is known for its literary quality, but the characters are well-drawn. The other movie despite similar elements failed because it did not think through the essential details of the characters.
A printed and bound book has already gone through a lengthy process of imagining, writing, revising, and editing. A movie writer may choose to continue with this process for a bit, but most of it has already been done for him. As a writer, I know there are many ways a story can go, and the book's author has already presented one well-thought-out path. The scriptwriter can choose to step off this path for a bit and explore other directions, but he always has the main path to take him most of the way.
There are likely financial reasons too for preferring to base teen movies on books now. A bestselling book already has a fan base guaranteed to take an interest in the film. And ever since Harry Potter came out twenty years ago, kids and young adults have been reading more voraciously. And there've been a lot of terrific books for them to make movies out of. A lot more than the ones I've already mentioned. Some of which I've actually read, like the aforementioned Harry Potter and The Hunger Games, which I was really crazy about despite being let down by a lot of the last book, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Giver, The City of Ember. I haven't seen all the movies, though. The reviews for some, particularly the last, weren't good. And while the Harry Potter and Hunger Games movies had excellent production design, I felt not enough time was given to developing the crucial relationships. It's hard for movies with their limited time to really build up relationships meaningfully in believably gradual progression unless the relationship is the focus of the movie. It works in the romances To All the Boys I've Loved Before and The Kissing Booth.
I wonder if I would have liked those movies as much if I had read the books first, though. When you've already imagined a book vividly, it's so easy for a movie to disappoint when it doesn't show things like you envisioned them. Movies delight with visual effects and music. Books can with good description help you to visualize, though, and also to experience smells, tastes, and sensations which a movie can't do too well.
Music is one thing a movie can almost always do better, because I find it something very hard to describe and imagine simply from a description. Perhaps that's one last reason why movies based on books resonate so well with teens. Most teens love music and it's one thing that books don't have and words can't capture too well. Movies based on books should focus on doing what books can't do and on what audiovisual media can do better. They may disappoint in other ways, but when it comes to visual and sound effects, if they give a lot more, they can make up for it.
I haven't read the books but both movies and another based on a book, The Kissing Booth, were among the best recent teen movies I had seen on Netflix. I also enjoyed the most recent update of Freaky Friday (a teen book I have actually read) on the Disney Channel.
According to reviews, there are numerous differences between these movies and books. I would definitely agree when it comes to Freaky Friday. Nothing remains, really, but the bare bones: A teen girl who hates her little brother, has a crush her age, is bright but goofs off in school, doesn't appreciate her mother.
And yet with all the changes, these movies are still so much better than recent non-book-adaptation teen movies.
One reason is that the writers of books have done all the detailed thinking that movie scriptwriters are less given to doing. With rather limited time to tell the story, movie writers mostly focus on plot and deck out archetypes a bit differently each time to serve as characters. As a writer, I know creating an engaging three-dimensional character really takes a lot of thought. In writing a book, you have the luxury of creating a detailed back story. Very little of this back story may be shown in the movie version, but the fact that it is there makes the characters more real and consistent.
When I watched The Spectacular Now, I was reminded of two other movies with similar elements: A Walk to Remember and Here on Earth. The first is based on a book, the second is not. I liked The Spectacular Now, loved A Walk to Remember, and was not quite sold on Here on Earth. If you haven't heard of it, there's a good reason. Quite simply, it's about a sweet small-town girl who falls for a bratty rich boy. Why, apart from the fact that he's handsome, I don't know. She doesn't seem to be that shallow. She's not supposed to be. She's terminally ill--why should she waste her time, especially since she already has an attractive childhood sweetheart? She is drawn like Little Women's Beth, but without the crippling shyness that made us understand how Beth is able to accept she won't live to grow up--she had such difficulty in dealing with the world. Leelee Sobieski is lovely in her role but so lovely that she doesn't really seem to be ill and her inability to keep going thus appears to be more from a lack of will than due to real suffering. The bratty prep boy is a completely unbelievable character. He's high school valedictorian, but reckless and irresponsible enough to goad the girl's boyfriend into a dangerous drag race. And we are supposed to sympathize with him because his mother died when he was young and he has a cold father. Maybe we could if he didn't avoid his girlfriend when he found out she was dying. Her ex seeks him out to say that she needs him. A big WHY? flashed into my mind at that line. He was the one who always needed her, so how could she expect him to have anything to give her? If he'd said she was worried about him, it would have rung truer.
The Spectacular Now is sometimes rushed in its storytelling, but it does the good girl-bad boy trope much better. The boy is irresponsible and always drunk, but he is friendly and kind. He listens to the girl and is interested in her and doesn't share his own problems till much later in their relationship, after he's advised her on dealing with her own. These teens are so achingly real and sympathetic. I love the scene where she says she's figured out how to make her own marriage work. She walks the line between innocent and wise so well, just like a real mature teen. I'm annoyed that she's influenced by him to drink to loosen up, but it doesn't seem to be an addiction with her. I also thought she was a little too forgiving, but it was consistent with her character, since she allowed herself to be used by her mother as well. As saintly as she seems to be, she doesn't give up everything for the guy but goes off to college while he's figuring his own life out. And she expects him to, even knowing how wounded he is by his father's abandonment. I have some problems with this movie, but I will say that the characters are very real and believable.
A Walk to Remember has the bad boy and the sweet girl that you probably know is *spoiler alert* dying, and there's the absent dad, too. The progression of the relationship is gradual and believable. Jamie may be sweet and kind, but she makes demands of Landon. She expects him to work hard and be a real friend. The romance is beautiful and dramatic as the turn of events is, the development of the characters remains believable. Which is good because they are the kind of couple we want to believe in.
Neither book is known for its literary quality, but the characters are well-drawn. The other movie despite similar elements failed because it did not think through the essential details of the characters.
A printed and bound book has already gone through a lengthy process of imagining, writing, revising, and editing. A movie writer may choose to continue with this process for a bit, but most of it has already been done for him. As a writer, I know there are many ways a story can go, and the book's author has already presented one well-thought-out path. The scriptwriter can choose to step off this path for a bit and explore other directions, but he always has the main path to take him most of the way.
There are likely financial reasons too for preferring to base teen movies on books now. A bestselling book already has a fan base guaranteed to take an interest in the film. And ever since Harry Potter came out twenty years ago, kids and young adults have been reading more voraciously. And there've been a lot of terrific books for them to make movies out of. A lot more than the ones I've already mentioned. Some of which I've actually read, like the aforementioned Harry Potter and The Hunger Games, which I was really crazy about despite being let down by a lot of the last book, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Giver, The City of Ember. I haven't seen all the movies, though. The reviews for some, particularly the last, weren't good. And while the Harry Potter and Hunger Games movies had excellent production design, I felt not enough time was given to developing the crucial relationships. It's hard for movies with their limited time to really build up relationships meaningfully in believably gradual progression unless the relationship is the focus of the movie. It works in the romances To All the Boys I've Loved Before and The Kissing Booth.
I wonder if I would have liked those movies as much if I had read the books first, though. When you've already imagined a book vividly, it's so easy for a movie to disappoint when it doesn't show things like you envisioned them. Movies delight with visual effects and music. Books can with good description help you to visualize, though, and also to experience smells, tastes, and sensations which a movie can't do too well.
Music is one thing a movie can almost always do better, because I find it something very hard to describe and imagine simply from a description. Perhaps that's one last reason why movies based on books resonate so well with teens. Most teens love music and it's one thing that books don't have and words can't capture too well. Movies based on books should focus on doing what books can't do and on what audiovisual media can do better. They may disappoint in other ways, but when it comes to visual and sound effects, if they give a lot more, they can make up for it.
June 22, 2018
Pondering the Lame in Children's Classics
That's the lame in children's classics. Not "lame children's classics." Since I sprained my ankle badly recently, I have been reflecting on how most of my understanding of the experience of being unable to walk was shaped by children's classics. No physical disability is more common in children's literature, it seems. Why?
In the nineteenth century, the chances of children becoming lame was increased by greater incidences of paralytic diseases and lack of knowledge on physiology and therapy. So it was probably more common for children to be lame or paralyzed than it is today, just as it was more common for them to lose their parents or die themselves, which are also common tropes in children's classics.
Children experienced other forms of disability, of course. But I think the idea of being lame or paralyzed is the most pathetic for active young children. Hence the number of stories exploring the experience.
Like most children, the first lame child in literature I met was the nameless one in The Pied Piper of Hamelin. Pitiful as he was, he turned out to be important for his glimpse of the world in the mountain made it clear that the adults, not the children, of Hamelin were being punished. Anyone can sympathize with the misery of the poor child at being left behind by his companions, as he must so often have. And to lose out on such a prize! Though, as a character in The Story Girl said, "But think how glad his mother must have been."
Then there was Klara in Heidi. It's never clear what was wrong with her, only that she had been ill and was too weak to walk. So the fact that she grows strong in the Alps until she can is plausible enough with her newly awakened desire to explore the outdoors as her motivation.
Colin Craven in The Secret Garden is a similar case. He becomes an invalid mainly because of his father's neurotic fear that he will be a hunchback like himself. Mr. Craven is forgivable only because of his deep grief over his wife's death and the lack of medical knowledge in his time. Like Klara, he is invigorated by being outdoors and motivated by the desire to play outside with other children.
A little less believable is the story of Katy in What Katy Did. I appreciate how tomboyish Katy's injury led to her using her creativity in acts of kindness rather than mischief, but it seems unbelievable that she just spontaneously gets better. Though I guess back injuries do sometimes with bed rest. It is kind of moralistic but the book's saving grace is that Katy is a likeable character, maintaining a lively spirit even when she reforms.
Pollyanna in her eponymous book is too, but I have come to have issues with Pollyanna. At first I wanted my daughter to read her, then scanning the book again, I changed my mind. My daughter is sensitive and can get sulky and whiny over a lot of things, so you can see why I thought it might be good for her to be infected with Pollyanna's positive spirit. But rereading the portions from Pollyanna's viewpoint changed my mind. In parts written from adults' points of view she is charming, and you can see how her naive optimism changes their own cynical outlook in life. But when you read how she struggles to deny to herself that her aunt is unkind, then you can see the problem with her father's "glad game"--a game he makes her play to find something to be glad about every situation and she applies even to becoming a paraplegic. I don't think it should go so far as to make her deny being sad or hurt. Looking for something positive in every situation doesn't mean you should go so far as to be glad every time. Denying your true feelings and your gut instinct about people isn't healthy or wise. In the sequel, Pollyanna as a teen applies understanding rather than denial in her dealings with people and that sits better with me than the glad game and her at times annoying blind naivete! I think the first book is better reserved for those who are mature enough to balance both the flaws and virtues of the glad game.
Crucita in the Childcraft anthology Children Everywhere has an inspiring positive attitude as she is realistically portrayed suffering paralysis from polio and slowly teaching herself to walk again, even as she focuses on doing useful things with her hands. Another polio survivor is Mercy in The Witch of Blackbird Pond. She is a secondary character, but a memorable one, warm, sympathetic and wise.
Perhaps the best portrayal in classic children's lit of a lame child is The Little Lame Prince. It describes how the prince copes with his disability and his feelings at watching an able-bodied boy, and though it is a fairy tale, he is never cured. He is, however, given a flying cloak which he only uses in secret. He becomes a respected king despite his inability to walk, making this quite an empowering tale. While there are still no flying cloaks, there are more means for disabled children to get about now, and so there is no reason why they can't achieve as much as the young prince did.
So much has been done with this trope that it's no wonder that it is little used now. Freak the Mighty features a character in a wheelchair with other problems, but he's shown to be smart and brave. Lois Lowry's Sam books feature a character in a wheelchair as an ordinary kid in every way. These are two positive and empowering ways to present a child who can't walk. More portrayals of this sort would probably not be groundbreaking, but would still be welcome.
In the nineteenth century, the chances of children becoming lame was increased by greater incidences of paralytic diseases and lack of knowledge on physiology and therapy. So it was probably more common for children to be lame or paralyzed than it is today, just as it was more common for them to lose their parents or die themselves, which are also common tropes in children's classics.
Children experienced other forms of disability, of course. But I think the idea of being lame or paralyzed is the most pathetic for active young children. Hence the number of stories exploring the experience.
Like most children, the first lame child in literature I met was the nameless one in The Pied Piper of Hamelin. Pitiful as he was, he turned out to be important for his glimpse of the world in the mountain made it clear that the adults, not the children, of Hamelin were being punished. Anyone can sympathize with the misery of the poor child at being left behind by his companions, as he must so often have. And to lose out on such a prize! Though, as a character in The Story Girl said, "But think how glad his mother must have been."
Then there was Klara in Heidi. It's never clear what was wrong with her, only that she had been ill and was too weak to walk. So the fact that she grows strong in the Alps until she can is plausible enough with her newly awakened desire to explore the outdoors as her motivation.
Colin Craven in The Secret Garden is a similar case. He becomes an invalid mainly because of his father's neurotic fear that he will be a hunchback like himself. Mr. Craven is forgivable only because of his deep grief over his wife's death and the lack of medical knowledge in his time. Like Klara, he is invigorated by being outdoors and motivated by the desire to play outside with other children.
A little less believable is the story of Katy in What Katy Did. I appreciate how tomboyish Katy's injury led to her using her creativity in acts of kindness rather than mischief, but it seems unbelievable that she just spontaneously gets better. Though I guess back injuries do sometimes with bed rest. It is kind of moralistic but the book's saving grace is that Katy is a likeable character, maintaining a lively spirit even when she reforms.
Pollyanna in her eponymous book is too, but I have come to have issues with Pollyanna. At first I wanted my daughter to read her, then scanning the book again, I changed my mind. My daughter is sensitive and can get sulky and whiny over a lot of things, so you can see why I thought it might be good for her to be infected with Pollyanna's positive spirit. But rereading the portions from Pollyanna's viewpoint changed my mind. In parts written from adults' points of view she is charming, and you can see how her naive optimism changes their own cynical outlook in life. But when you read how she struggles to deny to herself that her aunt is unkind, then you can see the problem with her father's "glad game"--a game he makes her play to find something to be glad about every situation and she applies even to becoming a paraplegic. I don't think it should go so far as to make her deny being sad or hurt. Looking for something positive in every situation doesn't mean you should go so far as to be glad every time. Denying your true feelings and your gut instinct about people isn't healthy or wise. In the sequel, Pollyanna as a teen applies understanding rather than denial in her dealings with people and that sits better with me than the glad game and her at times annoying blind naivete! I think the first book is better reserved for those who are mature enough to balance both the flaws and virtues of the glad game.
Crucita in the Childcraft anthology Children Everywhere has an inspiring positive attitude as she is realistically portrayed suffering paralysis from polio and slowly teaching herself to walk again, even as she focuses on doing useful things with her hands. Another polio survivor is Mercy in The Witch of Blackbird Pond. She is a secondary character, but a memorable one, warm, sympathetic and wise.
Perhaps the best portrayal in classic children's lit of a lame child is The Little Lame Prince. It describes how the prince copes with his disability and his feelings at watching an able-bodied boy, and though it is a fairy tale, he is never cured. He is, however, given a flying cloak which he only uses in secret. He becomes a respected king despite his inability to walk, making this quite an empowering tale. While there are still no flying cloaks, there are more means for disabled children to get about now, and so there is no reason why they can't achieve as much as the young prince did.
So much has been done with this trope that it's no wonder that it is little used now. Freak the Mighty features a character in a wheelchair with other problems, but he's shown to be smart and brave. Lois Lowry's Sam books feature a character in a wheelchair as an ordinary kid in every way. These are two positive and empowering ways to present a child who can't walk. More portrayals of this sort would probably not be groundbreaking, but would still be welcome.
January 17, 2018
My Diverse Books Review Project #1: Heavy Romance
For Christmas, I got a lot of books. I mean A LOT. A whole box of books, mostly novels. A good part of them YA novels. Some of them I got even though I wasn't particularly drawn to the story, based on the blurb. It was because I noticed that they had diverse characters, and lately there's been a call for more diversity in literature. I was therefore pleased to see books with such diverse characters existed, so I want to see how they are. And of course, share my thoughts on them.
The first of the books I finished reading wasHolding Up the Universe. I loved it. Mainly I loved the main characters, 250 pound Libby who won't let anyone put her down and Jack who tries to cover up for a disorder by being charming and going along with everyone. Libby is pretty, loves to wisecrack, dance, and wear girly clothes. She's an ordinary girl, really, despite her above-average weight, and she's determined not to let her size get in the way of her having it all. And being sweet as well as tough, she gets pretty much the ending she deserves.
It's not the first book I've read with an overweight girl who is a good dancer. Last year, I read Choco Chip Hips about a fat girl who wants to join her school's prestigious dance club. It's feel-good too, but it doesn't really focus on romance. Here in the Philippines, middle-class parents are still uneasy about girls dating before senior high (with good reason, I think). So it works pretty well for its country of origin. I'm not saying the romance doesn't work out, it's just not definite by the end of this book. And not treated as very important. What is important is the girl is able to achieve her main goals in life, keep her friends, and win new ones. Which makes for a satisfying life for a sixteen-year-old.
The first book I read of the sort, though, is Circle of Friends. I'd have to say this book gives the most romantic thrills of all. Too bad the guy, despite being the gorgeous golden boy that all the girls drooled over, turned out not to be worth it. Still, there's hope for fat girl Benny of having romance again in the future.
I've never had a major weight problem, but I've had my own insecurities regarding my attractiveness, so I could relate with these MCs and their conflicts and rejoice in their successes. I don't find anything weird about a fat girl being a romantic heroine given that I've seen fat girls getting married in life and on reality TV. While binge-watching TV after the birth of my youngest, I watched a lot of wedding-related shows and one episode showed two big black girls selecting their wedding dresses, back-to-back with a show presenting the Disneyland wedding of another big black girl. So I could see in real-life fat girls do get fairy-tale endings. And I think it's good for YA lit to show this too. There's no disputing people should try to keep to a healthy weight, but they can still live ordinary lives while struggling it. This is the reality projected in these stories, made more thrilling and powerful by good writing.
The first of the books I finished reading wasHolding Up the Universe. I loved it. Mainly I loved the main characters, 250 pound Libby who won't let anyone put her down and Jack who tries to cover up for a disorder by being charming and going along with everyone. Libby is pretty, loves to wisecrack, dance, and wear girly clothes. She's an ordinary girl, really, despite her above-average weight, and she's determined not to let her size get in the way of her having it all. And being sweet as well as tough, she gets pretty much the ending she deserves.
It's not the first book I've read with an overweight girl who is a good dancer. Last year, I read Choco Chip Hips about a fat girl who wants to join her school's prestigious dance club. It's feel-good too, but it doesn't really focus on romance. Here in the Philippines, middle-class parents are still uneasy about girls dating before senior high (with good reason, I think). So it works pretty well for its country of origin. I'm not saying the romance doesn't work out, it's just not definite by the end of this book. And not treated as very important. What is important is the girl is able to achieve her main goals in life, keep her friends, and win new ones. Which makes for a satisfying life for a sixteen-year-old.
The first book I read of the sort, though, is Circle of Friends. I'd have to say this book gives the most romantic thrills of all. Too bad the guy, despite being the gorgeous golden boy that all the girls drooled over, turned out not to be worth it. Still, there's hope for fat girl Benny of having romance again in the future.
I've never had a major weight problem, but I've had my own insecurities regarding my attractiveness, so I could relate with these MCs and their conflicts and rejoice in their successes. I don't find anything weird about a fat girl being a romantic heroine given that I've seen fat girls getting married in life and on reality TV. While binge-watching TV after the birth of my youngest, I watched a lot of wedding-related shows and one episode showed two big black girls selecting their wedding dresses, back-to-back with a show presenting the Disneyland wedding of another big black girl. So I could see in real-life fat girls do get fairy-tale endings. And I think it's good for YA lit to show this too. There's no disputing people should try to keep to a healthy weight, but they can still live ordinary lives while struggling it. This is the reality projected in these stories, made more thrilling and powerful by good writing.
December 29, 2017
Two Writers and the Green-eyed Monster
I'm currently reading Tru & Nelle, a charming book imagining Truman Capote and Harper Lee's childhood friendship. The two are presented as precocious, daring child characters that are delight of children's literature, opposites that strangely complement each other, with the kind of friendship that makes you look back with nostalgia to your own playmates of the past. But I was saddened when I read the author's note at the end, telling how they turned out in adulthood.
They remained close through Harper Lee's writing of To Kill a Mockingbird, and in fact Capote had helped Lee get a couple to support her while she completed the novel. She helped him in his research and writing for In Cold Blood, but he grew insecure when she won the Pulitzer, and published his book with a note downplaying her contribution as secretarial work. Maybe he was afraid people would attribute too much to the Pulitzer prizewinner and assume it was more her work than his. He didn't win the Pulitzer. Given his attitude, I think it served him right.
Fame and accolades are nice to get, certainly, and helpful to one's career as a writer. I know how professional jealousy feels. I've read books and stories that have won awards that I thought were no better than stuff I'd written. And every now and then they are written by friends of mine.
But my cause is literature. I'm usually galled when someone wins and I lose only if I can't objectively see enough value in the prizewinning work. While I can understand why judges might be charmed by a story, it's annoying if they're charmed by it even if it isn't written that well. Or, conversely, if they are delighted by the way something is written even if when you examine the story more closely you find some things wrong with the plotting or the way an issue is handled and such.
For me though, knowing the writer personally in such cases is more helpful in stemming jealousy. Knowing what I do about the person, I usually acknowledge that even if I don't see what's so great about the work, he/she needed it--the money, career help, and confidence boost the award brought. And I can let go of jealousy and get on with my life, and even my prizewinning pal.
For a little jealousy may be a help to a writer to push oneself and see what to work on to improve. But I think it's crippling rather than not.
Harper Lee's reclusiveness after Mockingbird's publication and awarding is generally attributed to her weariness with attention. But then she'd have to have been reclusive and shy to begin with to hate attention that much. It's not like she lived in Beverly Hills and had fans camping out on her doorstep.
Others suggest that success was bittersweet for her because Mockingbird wasn't the book she originally set out to write, that she was driven to write Go Set a Watchman to expose her father's inconsistencies: first defending falsely accused black men, then supporting segregation. But he apparently changed to champion integration while she was completing Mockingbird, so that's doubtful. In fact, his change of heart is probably why she abandoned Watchman, even though it would have been more publishable after Mockingbird's success.
I think it's most likely that after becoming a recluse she didn't have much to write about. She had already put the best of her life stories into Mockingbird.
Of course, as a writer I can see one more compelling tale in her life to tell, but one that must have been painful to her: her friendship with Capote and how it soured after she wrote one book that was honored more than his.
You could say that Capote was equally successful, even without the awards. He completed more books, which remain in print. It's a pity he couldn't see it that way.
If the two had remained friends, perhaps Lee would have remained more active, found more to write about, and have had someone to help her deal with people in connection with her writing, something Capote had done for her before. And maybe Capote wouldn't have drunk himself to death. There's no question that people always benefit from a support system, and that they were once each other's. If only Capote had realized the loss of this may have been worse than losing the coveted prize.
What a pity there is no sequel Tru and Nelle Defeat the Green-eyed Monster. We can only read the sweet, nostalgic Tru and Nelle and celebrate the magical friendship that led to the growth of two great American writers and mourn that its end may also have contributed to theirs.
They remained close through Harper Lee's writing of To Kill a Mockingbird, and in fact Capote had helped Lee get a couple to support her while she completed the novel. She helped him in his research and writing for In Cold Blood, but he grew insecure when she won the Pulitzer, and published his book with a note downplaying her contribution as secretarial work. Maybe he was afraid people would attribute too much to the Pulitzer prizewinner and assume it was more her work than his. He didn't win the Pulitzer. Given his attitude, I think it served him right.
Fame and accolades are nice to get, certainly, and helpful to one's career as a writer. I know how professional jealousy feels. I've read books and stories that have won awards that I thought were no better than stuff I'd written. And every now and then they are written by friends of mine.
But my cause is literature. I'm usually galled when someone wins and I lose only if I can't objectively see enough value in the prizewinning work. While I can understand why judges might be charmed by a story, it's annoying if they're charmed by it even if it isn't written that well. Or, conversely, if they are delighted by the way something is written even if when you examine the story more closely you find some things wrong with the plotting or the way an issue is handled and such.
For me though, knowing the writer personally in such cases is more helpful in stemming jealousy. Knowing what I do about the person, I usually acknowledge that even if I don't see what's so great about the work, he/she needed it--the money, career help, and confidence boost the award brought. And I can let go of jealousy and get on with my life, and even my prizewinning pal.
For a little jealousy may be a help to a writer to push oneself and see what to work on to improve. But I think it's crippling rather than not.
Harper Lee's reclusiveness after Mockingbird's publication and awarding is generally attributed to her weariness with attention. But then she'd have to have been reclusive and shy to begin with to hate attention that much. It's not like she lived in Beverly Hills and had fans camping out on her doorstep.
Others suggest that success was bittersweet for her because Mockingbird wasn't the book she originally set out to write, that she was driven to write Go Set a Watchman to expose her father's inconsistencies: first defending falsely accused black men, then supporting segregation. But he apparently changed to champion integration while she was completing Mockingbird, so that's doubtful. In fact, his change of heart is probably why she abandoned Watchman, even though it would have been more publishable after Mockingbird's success.
I think it's most likely that after becoming a recluse she didn't have much to write about. She had already put the best of her life stories into Mockingbird.
Of course, as a writer I can see one more compelling tale in her life to tell, but one that must have been painful to her: her friendship with Capote and how it soured after she wrote one book that was honored more than his.
You could say that Capote was equally successful, even without the awards. He completed more books, which remain in print. It's a pity he couldn't see it that way.
If the two had remained friends, perhaps Lee would have remained more active, found more to write about, and have had someone to help her deal with people in connection with her writing, something Capote had done for her before. And maybe Capote wouldn't have drunk himself to death. There's no question that people always benefit from a support system, and that they were once each other's. If only Capote had realized the loss of this may have been worse than losing the coveted prize.
What a pity there is no sequel Tru and Nelle Defeat the Green-eyed Monster. We can only read the sweet, nostalgic Tru and Nelle and celebrate the magical friendship that led to the growth of two great American writers and mourn that its end may also have contributed to theirs.
August 16, 2017
Why Children Love Orphans
My daughter's latest read now is The Higher Power of Lucky which is basically about a half-orphan girl sent by her father to live with a woman she's not related to. He's pretty much absent from her life, so she's virtually an orphan. The situation by which she becomes an orphan is pretty contrived. Not unrealistic, it's just an unusually complicated situation. But then it would have to be in a book set in contemporary times.
There's no denying that children still can lose one or both parents when young, and that's pretty sad. But rare compared to Victorian times when many children's classics with orphaned children bloomed. Nearly all Frances Hodgson Burnett's protagonists, Heidi, Tom Sawyer, Rose of Eight Cousins, Emily of New Moon, and of course, Anne of Green Gables, another of my daughter's favorites, are orphaned. Many others had lost a parent, usually a mother: Huckleberry Finn, Sara and some of her cousins and friends in The Story Girl, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, Five Little Peppers and How They Grew. It was pretty easy to explain at the time and not all that unusual.
It's also easy to see why such a situation is alluring to authors, apart from the fact that many of them were in a similar situation. On a practical level, it makes some things easier. Less parents around mean less characters to deal with and allow the children more agency, more ability to move around freely, and less likely to have someone to run to for help. This makes for an interesting story, but it isn't really necessary. In the New Zealand book Shuz, the bullied protagonist has both parents and tells his mother the situation, but gets her agree not to tell his father who might embarrass him, and allow the kid and his friends time to solve the problem themselves. Contrived, but not unbelievable, and it shows the reality of most children--having two loving parents. The Bridge to Terabithia shows that children are never completely safe even in a rural neighborhood, so eliminating parents isn't necessary for an interesting story. And if they must be moved out, you can send them abroad or put them in a hospital or the home of a relative who needs help. No need to kill them.
Of course, the situation of the orphan has a certain pathetic appeal, especially for children feeling the lack of parental attention or understanding. Josephine in Hugo and Josephine perhaps feels even less loved than Hugo, who only has a mother. Despite having both parents, Josephine is left mostly to the care of an older brother and sister who are more bossy than loving.
But it has mystified me why a child who gets plenty of love and attention from her parents and the rest of her family, like my daughter, would love books about orphans so much. I expect the independence and freedom of the children appeals to her, but Ramona is as independent as Lucky, perhaps more, since Lucky follows her older friend Lincoln around while Ramona does most of her activities on her own.
The book about Lucky, though, suggests the appeal to all children. Lucky feels more insecure than most kids because of her situation, but once they are old enough, most kids know, even if just in the backs of their minds, that they won't always be with their family. Lucky is lucky because despite losing her mother and not being loved by her father, there is someone who chose to love and care for her. That reassurance that we are lovable, that there will always be people who care for us, is something we all need, but that children, in their dependent state need even more. All orphan stories are love stories, ending with the child finding a secure home with a loving family. They are the children's equivalent of romance.
There's no denying that children still can lose one or both parents when young, and that's pretty sad. But rare compared to Victorian times when many children's classics with orphaned children bloomed. Nearly all Frances Hodgson Burnett's protagonists, Heidi, Tom Sawyer, Rose of Eight Cousins, Emily of New Moon, and of course, Anne of Green Gables, another of my daughter's favorites, are orphaned. Many others had lost a parent, usually a mother: Huckleberry Finn, Sara and some of her cousins and friends in The Story Girl, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, Five Little Peppers and How They Grew. It was pretty easy to explain at the time and not all that unusual.
It's also easy to see why such a situation is alluring to authors, apart from the fact that many of them were in a similar situation. On a practical level, it makes some things easier. Less parents around mean less characters to deal with and allow the children more agency, more ability to move around freely, and less likely to have someone to run to for help. This makes for an interesting story, but it isn't really necessary. In the New Zealand book Shuz, the bullied protagonist has both parents and tells his mother the situation, but gets her agree not to tell his father who might embarrass him, and allow the kid and his friends time to solve the problem themselves. Contrived, but not unbelievable, and it shows the reality of most children--having two loving parents. The Bridge to Terabithia shows that children are never completely safe even in a rural neighborhood, so eliminating parents isn't necessary for an interesting story. And if they must be moved out, you can send them abroad or put them in a hospital or the home of a relative who needs help. No need to kill them.
Of course, the situation of the orphan has a certain pathetic appeal, especially for children feeling the lack of parental attention or understanding. Josephine in Hugo and Josephine perhaps feels even less loved than Hugo, who only has a mother. Despite having both parents, Josephine is left mostly to the care of an older brother and sister who are more bossy than loving.
But it has mystified me why a child who gets plenty of love and attention from her parents and the rest of her family, like my daughter, would love books about orphans so much. I expect the independence and freedom of the children appeals to her, but Ramona is as independent as Lucky, perhaps more, since Lucky follows her older friend Lincoln around while Ramona does most of her activities on her own.
The book about Lucky, though, suggests the appeal to all children. Lucky feels more insecure than most kids because of her situation, but once they are old enough, most kids know, even if just in the backs of their minds, that they won't always be with their family. Lucky is lucky because despite losing her mother and not being loved by her father, there is someone who chose to love and care for her. That reassurance that we are lovable, that there will always be people who care for us, is something we all need, but that children, in their dependent state need even more. All orphan stories are love stories, ending with the child finding a secure home with a loving family. They are the children's equivalent of romance.
June 12, 2017
Thoughts on Two Tales of Tagore
I confess I haven';t been able to finish reading any books lately. Still, I get a dose of literature on my Netflix. While most of these are mystery series like Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries and Elementary, at Netflix's recommendation, I also watched a couple of the televised Stories of Rabindranath Tagore.
I've always admired the language and philosophy in the essays of the Nobel Prize-winning Indian author but have read only one or two of his actual stories, years ago. While I have difficulty accepting the values implicitly espoused in the stories I watched, I need to remember that the actual works were written in turn-of-the-twentieth-century India. They were therefore already quite modern and controversial for their time. Certainly their female protagonists were.
"Chokher Bali" centers on the story of a young widow. In those days widows, while no longer encouraged to fling themselves on funeral pyres, were expected to remain chaste and never remarry. The well-read and musical young widow Binodini resents her fate, more so as she had been promised in her teens to a bookish young doctor, but the man refused to marry and she was passed on to his distant relative since his cousin refused to be married abruptly to a girl he did not know. All we know about their marriage is that the man died after 6 months. It would help if we knew a little more to increase our sympathy for Binodini, as she later becomes a homewrecker. Still, the director does an admirable job of making certain that we maintain sympathy for the character by introducing us first to the mature, independent Binodini who expresses regret for the folly of her ways while not, as in the original, backing society's restrictions against widows. In the original story's ending, an ending Tagore regretted writing, Binodini rejects the cousin's proposal by saying it would be shameful for him to marry a widow. Which was strange given that she had initially pursued a married man then the unmarried cousin. I suppose her concern for his being shamed could be read as a sign of love for him, and the series seems to take off on this interpretation but presents it better. Here, Binodini makes her decision less out of fear that the man she loves will be shamed than out of concern for his career and his marital happiness (a more suitable bride, in terms of social status and education waits in the wings--times are modern enough by now to allow the potential bride to be a doctor so it's doubtful there is still as great a stigma against marriage to a widow). She also considers eschewing marital happiness as a form of atonement for threatening the marriage of a devoted friend.
I have mixed feelings about the other story I watched, "The Conclusion." The hero and heroine of this romantic story are delightful--the serious scholar Apoorva and the tomboyish teenager Mrinmayi. Apoorva comes from a wealthy family and his mother wants him to marry a conventional good but uneducated girl. Apoorva considers himself more modern and seeks a more interesting bride and finds her in Mrinmayi, the leader of a gang of boys who steal fruits from his family's own orchards. But nobody asks Mrinmayi what she wants, and she resents the marriage. Apoorva realizes he has to win her over gradually. She also tames her wild ways to please her father. In the end, she chooses to please her husband's family and quits running around with the boys.
While of course a certain domestication is needed in a girl once she becomes a wife, I felt a terrible loss when Mrinmayi in the end just sat by while her brother and his friends came to deliver the mangoes they picked from her husband's trees. It wasn't even she who chased them out. While her mother-in-law was no longer shocked to hear she was the best mango picker of the group, I was disappointed that she was not encouraged to take charge of the fruit harvesting herself. I hoped it was because she was pregnant, but that was not mentioned as a reason at all. And the husband was not even present during this exchange so we would have an idea what he thought of it. I'm hoping he would have urged Mrinmayi to harvest mangoes, but it's doubtful. Her name apparently means "something shaped from clay" which suggests she was meant to be molded gently into a docile wife.
The stories are beautifully presented with wonderful production design, settings, cinematography, and poignant songs using Tagore's own poetry as lyrics. The characters are intriguing, the acting good. There is much to reflect on in these stories, but to appreciate them it may be necessary to remember the cultural values in the place and time they were written. It's clear that there are some updates, yet it seems that modernization of the tales was not the main intention of this series.
I've always admired the language and philosophy in the essays of the Nobel Prize-winning Indian author but have read only one or two of his actual stories, years ago. While I have difficulty accepting the values implicitly espoused in the stories I watched, I need to remember that the actual works were written in turn-of-the-twentieth-century India. They were therefore already quite modern and controversial for their time. Certainly their female protagonists were.
"Chokher Bali" centers on the story of a young widow. In those days widows, while no longer encouraged to fling themselves on funeral pyres, were expected to remain chaste and never remarry. The well-read and musical young widow Binodini resents her fate, more so as she had been promised in her teens to a bookish young doctor, but the man refused to marry and she was passed on to his distant relative since his cousin refused to be married abruptly to a girl he did not know. All we know about their marriage is that the man died after 6 months. It would help if we knew a little more to increase our sympathy for Binodini, as she later becomes a homewrecker. Still, the director does an admirable job of making certain that we maintain sympathy for the character by introducing us first to the mature, independent Binodini who expresses regret for the folly of her ways while not, as in the original, backing society's restrictions against widows. In the original story's ending, an ending Tagore regretted writing, Binodini rejects the cousin's proposal by saying it would be shameful for him to marry a widow. Which was strange given that she had initially pursued a married man then the unmarried cousin. I suppose her concern for his being shamed could be read as a sign of love for him, and the series seems to take off on this interpretation but presents it better. Here, Binodini makes her decision less out of fear that the man she loves will be shamed than out of concern for his career and his marital happiness (a more suitable bride, in terms of social status and education waits in the wings--times are modern enough by now to allow the potential bride to be a doctor so it's doubtful there is still as great a stigma against marriage to a widow). She also considers eschewing marital happiness as a form of atonement for threatening the marriage of a devoted friend.
I have mixed feelings about the other story I watched, "The Conclusion." The hero and heroine of this romantic story are delightful--the serious scholar Apoorva and the tomboyish teenager Mrinmayi. Apoorva comes from a wealthy family and his mother wants him to marry a conventional good but uneducated girl. Apoorva considers himself more modern and seeks a more interesting bride and finds her in Mrinmayi, the leader of a gang of boys who steal fruits from his family's own orchards. But nobody asks Mrinmayi what she wants, and she resents the marriage. Apoorva realizes he has to win her over gradually. She also tames her wild ways to please her father. In the end, she chooses to please her husband's family and quits running around with the boys.
While of course a certain domestication is needed in a girl once she becomes a wife, I felt a terrible loss when Mrinmayi in the end just sat by while her brother and his friends came to deliver the mangoes they picked from her husband's trees. It wasn't even she who chased them out. While her mother-in-law was no longer shocked to hear she was the best mango picker of the group, I was disappointed that she was not encouraged to take charge of the fruit harvesting herself. I hoped it was because she was pregnant, but that was not mentioned as a reason at all. And the husband was not even present during this exchange so we would have an idea what he thought of it. I'm hoping he would have urged Mrinmayi to harvest mangoes, but it's doubtful. Her name apparently means "something shaped from clay" which suggests she was meant to be molded gently into a docile wife.
The stories are beautifully presented with wonderful production design, settings, cinematography, and poignant songs using Tagore's own poetry as lyrics. The characters are intriguing, the acting good. There is much to reflect on in these stories, but to appreciate them it may be necessary to remember the cultural values in the place and time they were written. It's clear that there are some updates, yet it seems that modernization of the tales was not the main intention of this series.
February 25, 2017
Smaller and Smaller Circles: The Movie
I think it's been ten years, I think, since I've read Smaller and Smaller Circles but I still remember it. Being a mystery and crime fiction buff, I was stunned by this book's well-crafted plot in a familiar setting. It was like Silence of the Lambs but more believable, not just because of the familiar setting but because the writer really drew you in to the thought processes of the crime-solver protagonist.
So I was quite excited to have a chance to watch the new movie adaptation in an advanced screening for teachers. And while it was in a tiny theater and looked washed out (I actually thought that was on purpose, alluding to the fact that it was set twenty years ago), it was an excellent movie. The acting was believable and I like how it dealt with social issues and religious dilemmas subtly while maintaining the narrative flow. It brings up issues for consideration but doesn't provide answers, which would make it a rich movie for discussion in social science and theology classes. Moreso as its presentation of Philippine society was so carefully balanced: Most of the poor parents are shown to be caring, but there's one drunken mother. There are seedy politicians but also a good barangay councilor, and a couple of creepy men of the cloth opposing the two exemplary priest protagonists. While there isn't an equivalent set-up in media, the dilemma is shown: at times Joanna's probing, tear-inducing questions seem like exploitation, yet clearly the anchorwoman gets truly moved and helps solve the mystery for the sake of the people.
The filmmaker was particularly brilliant in keeping the identity of the serial killer mysterious while confirming the inferences of the priests about him. The killer was never shown until the end, not even from the back; in a later scene his arm could be seen but nothing else to identify him. And yet his frightening presence could be felt in the scenes where he approaches the kids, even if the children reacted with innocent friendliness to him. The child actors were amazing, by the way, and the only complaint one could make of them and the rest of the Payatas cast was that they looked a little too clean. The setting, however, was clearly authentic.
My husband and I had a discussion about the new character, Joanna the TV reporter, about whether she was really necessary. I said that for some reason, having Fr. Saenz interact with her made him more likable and human. I guess one reason was that he seemed more relatable, whereas in the novella he was a little too detached and analytical, so I wasn't sure if he really felt anything. The fact he showed caring for more people, more issues and that we heard his voice discussing such things rounded out his character, making him more than just a pathologist and brilliant priest but one with heart. And the fact that he could respond with real friendliness towards Joanna despite her rejection of religion makes it more believable that he can treat the killer with sympathy when he speaks bitterly against God. I also think her character is easier for young adults to relate to. The dilemma of why if there is a God he lets terrible things happen is one pondered by many young people. While few would go as far as the killer, many would question the way Joanna does, and she presents the best way to make peace with it, by focusing on what we can do about the wrongs in the world rather than waiting for God to mend them.
There were a few other scenes I would have liked to see: the back stories of the child victims for one--though they promise to show shorts of these to promote the movie. I found their stories in the book so moving. Then there's the killer's diary, mentioned in the book--would have loved to have seen some of the pages. Oh, and it's a small thing, but I would have enjoyed seeing Fr. Saenz in the dentist's chair and seeing the clue that unlocked it all. I would think the fact that he has a phobia of dentists would lead him to make an emotional as well as intellectual connection to murder at that moment. Right, maybe it's not such a small thing; it would have made for quite dramatic storytelling.
All in all it was a good film, and I look forward to seeing it again. I definitely would encourage my friends in UP, Ateneo, UA&P, Miriam, Raya School, and FEU to take advantage of producers' eagerness to hold screenings of the film for teachers. And hope you don't mind if I sneak into another one.
So I was quite excited to have a chance to watch the new movie adaptation in an advanced screening for teachers. And while it was in a tiny theater and looked washed out (I actually thought that was on purpose, alluding to the fact that it was set twenty years ago), it was an excellent movie. The acting was believable and I like how it dealt with social issues and religious dilemmas subtly while maintaining the narrative flow. It brings up issues for consideration but doesn't provide answers, which would make it a rich movie for discussion in social science and theology classes. Moreso as its presentation of Philippine society was so carefully balanced: Most of the poor parents are shown to be caring, but there's one drunken mother. There are seedy politicians but also a good barangay councilor, and a couple of creepy men of the cloth opposing the two exemplary priest protagonists. While there isn't an equivalent set-up in media, the dilemma is shown: at times Joanna's probing, tear-inducing questions seem like exploitation, yet clearly the anchorwoman gets truly moved and helps solve the mystery for the sake of the people.
The filmmaker was particularly brilliant in keeping the identity of the serial killer mysterious while confirming the inferences of the priests about him. The killer was never shown until the end, not even from the back; in a later scene his arm could be seen but nothing else to identify him. And yet his frightening presence could be felt in the scenes where he approaches the kids, even if the children reacted with innocent friendliness to him. The child actors were amazing, by the way, and the only complaint one could make of them and the rest of the Payatas cast was that they looked a little too clean. The setting, however, was clearly authentic.
My husband and I had a discussion about the new character, Joanna the TV reporter, about whether she was really necessary. I said that for some reason, having Fr. Saenz interact with her made him more likable and human. I guess one reason was that he seemed more relatable, whereas in the novella he was a little too detached and analytical, so I wasn't sure if he really felt anything. The fact he showed caring for more people, more issues and that we heard his voice discussing such things rounded out his character, making him more than just a pathologist and brilliant priest but one with heart. And the fact that he could respond with real friendliness towards Joanna despite her rejection of religion makes it more believable that he can treat the killer with sympathy when he speaks bitterly against God. I also think her character is easier for young adults to relate to. The dilemma of why if there is a God he lets terrible things happen is one pondered by many young people. While few would go as far as the killer, many would question the way Joanna does, and she presents the best way to make peace with it, by focusing on what we can do about the wrongs in the world rather than waiting for God to mend them.
There were a few other scenes I would have liked to see: the back stories of the child victims for one--though they promise to show shorts of these to promote the movie. I found their stories in the book so moving. Then there's the killer's diary, mentioned in the book--would have loved to have seen some of the pages. Oh, and it's a small thing, but I would have enjoyed seeing Fr. Saenz in the dentist's chair and seeing the clue that unlocked it all. I would think the fact that he has a phobia of dentists would lead him to make an emotional as well as intellectual connection to murder at that moment. Right, maybe it's not such a small thing; it would have made for quite dramatic storytelling.
All in all it was a good film, and I look forward to seeing it again. I definitely would encourage my friends in UP, Ateneo, UA&P, Miriam, Raya School, and FEU to take advantage of producers' eagerness to hold screenings of the film for teachers. And hope you don't mind if I sneak into another one.
February 8, 2017
My Take on the "no Kids" Trend
Lately I've been somewhat surprised to find out how many of my married friends have opted not to have children. While I definitely am pro-kid, having three, two of whom were planned, I actually think that this increasingly popular stance is a good sign. It shows that more people realize that having children is a great responsibility.
In my grandparents' day, children were viewed as a blessing and so they churned them out and raised them with "benign neglect" until they were adults and could fulfill their destiny of making their parents proud, producing grandchildren, and caring for the aging parents. In my family alone, it's evident how many cases this didn't work out as the parents intended. About half of the children achieved the expectation adequately. The rest struggled to make ends meet all their lives and/or leaned on the others for help and support.
In the next generation, there was a shift: Parents expanded the definition of blessing with the expectation that children give them entertainment and companionship as well. My mother, bless her heart, thought that God had answered her prayers for family happiness by providing her with the two boys and one girl that she wanted in the exact order that she wanted. She had grown up in a lonely home after the death of her brother, so her expectations of a home full of children were probably built upon books like Five Little Peppers and How They Grew, Louisa May Alcott's and Lucy Maud Montgomery all of which she passed on to me or bought. She must have been horrified by how much we squabbled--she used to sit between my younger brother and me in the car. She was disappointed when she overheard my brother scheming to get her to pay us for doing chores--something Jo and her sisters never thought of as they struggled to run the household for a day. And she was so discouraged by lack of interest in family activities as we reached adolescence that they gave up having us do anything together as a family, even eating Christmas dinner.
Of all the domestic literature for children that she gave me, my favorites were Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, Anne of Green Gables, Dear Enemy, and Ramona and Her Father. The children in these books were entertainingly mischievous, but I also appreciated how realistically the grown-ups who cared for them were presented. Not the saintly images of Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy's parents, but cantankerous elderly women, constantly bewildered yet sympathetic caretakers, a mother (Rebecca's) who labored to run a farm with the help of a prepubescent son while leaving two tween girls to look after her younger children, a father who alternated between being teasing and impatient with his daughter. Having an exasperating younger brother, my sympathy was as often with the adults as with the children. I recognized that these books showed me the real picture: children aren't automatic blessings. They are merely packages of potential and you have to work on them to reap your blessings.
I recently read that the parents of St. Therese, the Little Flower, were up for beatification, I guess simply for raising such an exemplary child. Good for them. And for other parents declared saints for their parenthood, such as Anne and Joachim, of whom all is known is that they produced the mother of God. I suppose they had to be deserving of her (though the movie The Nativity doesn't present them quite as such). I think I deserve to be nominated for sainthood if I'm able to tame my daughter's defiant streak in a loving manner. Perhaps I should just do a St. Monica and constantly pray.
Don't get me wrong, my children are delightful: smart, creative, great fun, often sweet to me and others. But it's a challenge for me to get them to sit down long enough to finish a meal or their homework. I am often consterned by how my daughter pops out of bed at six a.m. to play on weekends yet has to be dragged out at the same time on schooldays or how to make my older son realize that his baby brother will cry if grabbed an pulled down on the floor, even if it's for hugs and kisses. Driving with all of them in the back is like driving a truck of raucous poultry or squealing pigs, or maybe a van of zoo animals. If I am nominated for sainthood, the miracle cited ought to be that I have never had an accident despite having three rowdy little ones in the back.
Children will only be blessings if parents make them so. Having them is a responsibility and not one to be taken lightly. I love mine, but I freely admit they wear me out. If you're waiting or planning not to have kids, saying you're not sure you can handle them is a perfectly acceptable answer to me.
In my grandparents' day, children were viewed as a blessing and so they churned them out and raised them with "benign neglect" until they were adults and could fulfill their destiny of making their parents proud, producing grandchildren, and caring for the aging parents. In my family alone, it's evident how many cases this didn't work out as the parents intended. About half of the children achieved the expectation adequately. The rest struggled to make ends meet all their lives and/or leaned on the others for help and support.
In the next generation, there was a shift: Parents expanded the definition of blessing with the expectation that children give them entertainment and companionship as well. My mother, bless her heart, thought that God had answered her prayers for family happiness by providing her with the two boys and one girl that she wanted in the exact order that she wanted. She had grown up in a lonely home after the death of her brother, so her expectations of a home full of children were probably built upon books like Five Little Peppers and How They Grew, Louisa May Alcott's and Lucy Maud Montgomery all of which she passed on to me or bought. She must have been horrified by how much we squabbled--she used to sit between my younger brother and me in the car. She was disappointed when she overheard my brother scheming to get her to pay us for doing chores--something Jo and her sisters never thought of as they struggled to run the household for a day. And she was so discouraged by lack of interest in family activities as we reached adolescence that they gave up having us do anything together as a family, even eating Christmas dinner.
Of all the domestic literature for children that she gave me, my favorites were Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, Anne of Green Gables, Dear Enemy, and Ramona and Her Father. The children in these books were entertainingly mischievous, but I also appreciated how realistically the grown-ups who cared for them were presented. Not the saintly images of Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy's parents, but cantankerous elderly women, constantly bewildered yet sympathetic caretakers, a mother (Rebecca's) who labored to run a farm with the help of a prepubescent son while leaving two tween girls to look after her younger children, a father who alternated between being teasing and impatient with his daughter. Having an exasperating younger brother, my sympathy was as often with the adults as with the children. I recognized that these books showed me the real picture: children aren't automatic blessings. They are merely packages of potential and you have to work on them to reap your blessings.
I recently read that the parents of St. Therese, the Little Flower, were up for beatification, I guess simply for raising such an exemplary child. Good for them. And for other parents declared saints for their parenthood, such as Anne and Joachim, of whom all is known is that they produced the mother of God. I suppose they had to be deserving of her (though the movie The Nativity doesn't present them quite as such). I think I deserve to be nominated for sainthood if I'm able to tame my daughter's defiant streak in a loving manner. Perhaps I should just do a St. Monica and constantly pray.
Don't get me wrong, my children are delightful: smart, creative, great fun, often sweet to me and others. But it's a challenge for me to get them to sit down long enough to finish a meal or their homework. I am often consterned by how my daughter pops out of bed at six a.m. to play on weekends yet has to be dragged out at the same time on schooldays or how to make my older son realize that his baby brother will cry if grabbed an pulled down on the floor, even if it's for hugs and kisses. Driving with all of them in the back is like driving a truck of raucous poultry or squealing pigs, or maybe a van of zoo animals. If I am nominated for sainthood, the miracle cited ought to be that I have never had an accident despite having three rowdy little ones in the back.
Children will only be blessings if parents make them so. Having them is a responsibility and not one to be taken lightly. I love mine, but I freely admit they wear me out. If you're waiting or planning not to have kids, saying you're not sure you can handle them is a perfectly acceptable answer to me.
